


Rigor

by WeShouldSpoon



Series: Rigor [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: (?), Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Minor The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Presumed Dead, Transformation, Whump, darkspawn theories, just suspend your disbelief extra hard for this one alright folks, like what even is the architect, no beta we die like men, they’re just mentioned, this might be whump but idk, very slight and unreciprocated Morrigan/Warden and Alistair/Warden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeShouldSpoon/pseuds/WeShouldSpoon
Summary: She knew what the others called her. She didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t think she cared.Thedas needed cleansing, but all the darkness was trapped inside, like a sickness. She would let the blood of every last creature she laid eyes upon until the illness spilled out and left the world healthy again. She didn’t know why she held this belief. She didn't care to question it.She knew nothing else.(aka Warden Elissa Cousland is turned into a monster, and Leliana will do anything to save her)
Relationships: Female Adaar/Josephine Montilyet, Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, Leliana/Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Rigor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669945
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	Rigor

The sickness had taken residency in her bones. They felt as though they were twisting inside her body, wreaking havoc on the tendons and ligaments that kept her upright. She was unsteady on a good day, hunched like an old woman. On bad days (which felt like every day, now), she couldn’t bring herself to stand.

She was a fighter, though. It was in her blood. Her mother had battled and won against an intense bout of pneumonia; her father: typhus.

But Elissa didn’t have much fight left in her. Not after the Architect and his lackeys had force-fed her darkspawn ichor every day since The Mother fell (and took the cave down with her.) Not darkspawn flesh, though, no no no. That would turn her into a broodmother, and the Architect said that wasn’t his plan for her. Cryptic asshole. 

She didn’t know what day it was anymore- she stopped being able to keep track. 

They still hadn’t removed the shattered armor from her body. It burned against her skin.

Her mind was muddled, to say the least. She barely had enough thought left to know her own Maker-damned name. Her body was degenerating. She saw the dark splotches on her arms and legs, even in the dim light, and she knew the Taint was progressing far more quickly than it would have outside of the wretched Architect’s grasp.

She was shocked to discover that she didn’t degrade within a couple of days, but then she remembered that Grey Wardens were not ordinary people. At least, not after their Joining.  
The Architect said she would be done soon. He said that it was taking longer than expected because Elissa would not ‘embrace the taint.’ She would never, no matter what they did to her. 

Whatever fight she had left in her was working to slow his little experiment, which was enough for whatever dredges of her were truly left.

She groaned wearily as she heard the scrape of rusted metal against the cold stone floor. She knew someone was entering her cell.

Maker, could it even be called a cell? It felt more like a cage, with her as the kicked dog within.

“It is time,” the Architect cooed. She could sense him approaching. 

“Fuck you,” she rasped, tearing her head away from the hand that had grasped it. She glared at the intruder, or she would have if she could see. She had lost her sight long ago, but she knew it was the Architect by the long, cold, thin, and rancid fingers that caressed her head. He was as sickly gentle as always, scraping those monstrous fingernails through what little hair she had left, and sending a shiver of disgust down her spine.

He tsked, then grasped her by the jaw, digging his fingers into the sores along it. She stifled a groan to avoid opening her mouth, but he pinched the joint so hard that it was forced open. The ichor, smelling exponentially more rotten than even the Architect (who was basically a walking, talking corpse) was disgustingly warm. Every so often, he would feed her “fresh” blood from a darkspawn, and she couldn’t tell whether it was worse or better than the old stuff. It was thick, coating her mouth and making her gag. 

Her throat pumped, trying to spit it out, but the Architect held her jaw shut and pinched her nose, and it all went down, down, down into her gut, spreading its darkness further through her intestines. She wished that after months and months of being force fed the disgusting liquid, her stomach would adjust to it, but it still twisted as though struck, causing her to double over in pain when the Architect let her go.

“It will be over soon,” he assured, then seemed to float out of the room. 

She did not take notice, for she was too busy being torn in two. This was worse than before. So much worse. The armor that had burned against her skin felt red hot, practically melting the flesh beneath it. Her hand, gauntlet-less after her fall in the caverns, stretched and pulled like taffy. She retched, but nothing came up.

“No, no, no,” she croaked between heaves, her vocal chords rough with disuse. “Let me _rest.” ___

____

As her bones wrenched her apart from the inside out, grinding against the thin sheet she had been placed on, as her skin dried and cracked and twisted, she only had one thought on her mind.

____

_Leliana._

____

**Author's Note:**

> bear with me! i'm a very slow poster. i also know i might not make much sense, so suggestions are welcome!


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